So what is soccer, anyway?

14 September, 13

My youngest daughter, Katherine, plays Futsal, or indoor football, here in La Alberca. I was so proud of her for stepping out and trying something new and different. Her coaches are Kilian and Pedro. Pedro is teaching both my girls Spanish. His sister, Paula, is one of Elizabeth’s new friends. Luis, his father, is the principal of the school where my girls will attend classes. It’s a small world here in L.A.

Last night, we attended a men’s football match featuring Pedro and Kilian’s team, Montecasillas against arch-rivals Club Ciudad Murcia. It promised to be an exciting affair. Over 300 people were in attendance, boasting team colors. Evidently CCM beat MC last time and MC is out for blood. Ciudad Murcia has a killer fan base, however. They showed up for this game, singing fight songs, brandishing flags and drinking beer. I have no idea what they were singing and chanting, but I got the gist of it—We will, we will ROCK YOU!!

I am a legit futbol fan, ever since Elizabeth was in Spain for their amazing World Cup victory in 2010. My team is Barcelona, primarily because my friends here were Barça fans. Julio told me I could stay in his house as long as I was a Barça fan. Easy decision. I once told my dad I wanted to change my allegiance from Clemson to USC. He told me that was fine, but I couldn’t stay in his house. I was 8. He was serious. This is some sort of parallel universe.

The third generation of Askins is attending Clemson University right now. We bleed orange. I have baby pictures in a Clemson onesie. My sister has a tiger paw tattoo. My brother was a Sigma Epsilon Kudzu Kid. All our spouses attended Clemson. I would chew my arm off, coyote style, before I pulled for the USC Gamecocks. I even wore orange coveralls and a rubber chicken with a real noose around its neck to high school on Friday Spirit Days. Try doing that today. Instant expulsion.

So when I saw these “animadores” going crazy on the sidelines, I felt an instant affiliation with them. I understood futbol for the first time. It had the same atmosphere of a good ole Southern high school football game between cross county rivals. Blood would be spilt, either on the field or off. It was Hartsville vs. Dillon. It was Richmond vs. Scotland. A twinge of excitement mixed with fear quickened my heartbeat. Excitement at the prospect of a good fight. Fear because I forgot my knife. Spain has rednecks. I can speak the language.